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My stories
Loaves and loaves of wardrobes
A bowl of beetroot soup my love, some soup on the bedside table. In your fever, you will feel things too close to the skin, your fingernails are glazing.
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- 716 reads
Trying to reach Kate
The instinct for survival has been bred out of her and she stands on clifftops, platforms, bridges - an exhausted think tiding knee crane configuring the messages she would make -
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- 724 reads
This ends it
Dear inhabiting infant, we will not meet. The day you crowned the light was indifferent. I want to tell you how the blanket was the colour of blanket how you looked like rugby
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- 864 reads
Sheet shapes
I hold my life up like a sheet, look through it and see lovers lives shape; rectangle, rhombus, nonagon. I make holes - run my tongue along flatness. Do sums, my heart is heptagon,
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- 635 reads
Just a terrifying test
The first two lines of this poem are re-phrasing of a Katherine Symmonds poem from the pamhplet 'Snug' Don't ring me on Sundays to tell me about flatmates and weekends
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- 555 reads